


Trinity

by captain_tots



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_tots/pseuds/captain_tots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All's fair in love and war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trinity

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fairly certain no one loves writing about the Birkin's as much as I do.
> 
> This whole piece is pretty experimental for me, in content and style. I wanted to write something strange and sexual about what could have potentially gone on during the Arklay era of Umbrella. As for style, I wrote the way I think: short choppy sentences, mixed with long descriptions. 
> 
> Mature content ahead, including drug use, terrible language on the part of everyone involved, and lots of sex.  
> What else are you here for? ;D

Trinity

 

  


 

He can't remember if they do it because they enjoy it, or because it's just always been like this. 

-

Wesker is a selfish lover, that's for certain, the way he snarls and claws and pounds against William's skin, like he's unbreakable—William knows all too well that he isn't. There will be bruises, in the aftermath. Wesker is as hard a fucking rock, like marble sculpted into the shape of a man—something Greek or Roman with horns and a forked tongue tucked away for safe keeping. 

Wesker's never even bothered to give him the reach-around, so William tugs at his half flaccid dick, pretty apathetic to it all. He's running through the motions: buckling knees and bitten shoulders, pathetic mewls and soft groans, sweat and spit and cum. It's more for Wesker's benefit than his own. 

When Wesker finishes up and stalks off to the bathroom, William observes his reflection in the haughty old mirror that hangs on the back of Wesker's bedroom door.

His pupils are the size of quarters. 

He smiles. 

-

Annette is sleeping, back at home, and he feels bad for disturbing her when he crawls into bed next to her. She looks like an angel, with her halo of flax hair and her soft face. Her eyelashes flutter when he sits down on the side of the bed, and she mutters something intelligible. The light from the street shines off her wedding ring just perfectly, and in that moment, he decides that he is completely and irrevocably in love with her.

“You're bleeding,” she mumbles, when he finally lays down. She's a light sleeper. 

“Hmm?”

“On your shoulder.” She reaches out her hand to touch the blood. “Tell Wesker to not go so rough on you.” 

“He won't listen.” 

Annette sighs. 

-

He met her a few years back.

Al had a girlfriend. Who the fuck would have guessed?

They were going to a bar. He was confused. Wesker wouldn't ever go to something as pedestrian as a bar. The new girl must have been something else.

She was there, in a tight blue dress, with a half empty glass and a bored Wesker. 

She told him that she liked whiskey on the rocks, and when Wesker was in the bathroom she pinched his ass and said she wanted her kids to have freckles like his someday. 

She kissed him goodnight with her sweet alcoholic breath, and he was pretty sure he got drunk off it. 

Wesker broke up with her shortly after. He was never one to keep girls around longer than a few weeks. He was afraid they would figure out all his secrets.

It was funny, how Annette learned them anyway.

-

He can't read his own writing without 20 miligrams.

It's all chicken scratch and doodles until the pills sink down your throat, seep out into the bloodstream, stun your synapses.

He's waiting. 

There's a stasis tube in the lab: something monstrous and green floats in it. 

The hunters, that's right. 

He made those. How could he have forgotten? 

Everything is fuzzy at the edges, like Annette, when she strolls into his laboratory, unannounced. 

“What are you doing here...” he mumbles, not making eye contact with her. She's bleeding into her surroundings. He's not sure where to look at her, so he eyes the floor. 

“You have something for me?” she whispers into his ear, before wrapping her arms around him in some sort of hug-like gesture, but it's a little tighter than that, and he can feel her fingers cutting into his ribs, like they're just going to sear right though the bone, and that will be the end of William Birkin.

“Yeah, they're uh... on my desk I think.” 

She lets go of him as suddenly as she clung on. He looks down to check for cuts in his skin, but doesn't see anything. 

Annette dumps the pills out in her hand and plucks two into her pockets. 

“Is that enough?” he asks.

She stares at him. Her face is clear and sharp now.

“Of course it is...it's more than enough... oh, and I'm going to Wesker's tonight.” 

He nods. That will give him more time in the lab. 

He's happy for her.

Well, not really. 

-

_Aggression in specimen MA-121 may potentially be increased by genetic engineering to remove tryptophan hydroxylases 2._

It's midnight. Annette went home with Wesker at nine. 

Plenty of time.

_Potential ramifications of the removal of TPH2 include a weakening of the epidermis, and greatly increased infant mortality._

He wonders if Wesker fucks her like he fucks him. 

No words, no eye contact, just skin against skin. 

_MA-121 in the infant stage with removed TPH2 require additional resources to support growth and maintain vital signs._

Or maybe they're like lovers together, cooing and sighing and saying each others name. 

William wonders who's a better fuck. 

_I do not recommend the removal of TPH2 from group 64 of the MA-121 specimens, as the increase in aggressive behavior does not justify the additional resources required to support life in these organisms._

It's probably Wesker. 

Al just wasn't the marrying type.

-

She's so soft. 

Skin and breasts and curved hips. 

And she's his now; she's home from Wesker's, with that weary, fucked-empty expression he's seen on his own face before, but she insists she wants him now too.

She was always good at playing fair. 

He trails his tongue across the inside of her thigh—Wesker is too selfish to eat her out.

He hopes. 

He loves the way she arches her back and twists out her ankles before she comes.

He loves the way she spills over onto her thighs and the mattress. 

He loves her, unquestionably. 

“What time is it?”

“Why?”

She rolls over, trails a slender hand across his chest, which seems to be more sunken than usual— _maybe I should get that checked out, make a note of it, something—_ and brushes up against the waistline of his pants. 

“Do you want me to suck you off?”

Well, that's disappointing. 

“Too tired to fuck? 

“Not funny, Will.” 

“Well, are you?”

“I just asked a question, God.” 

It's all leading back to that question that's been bothering him lately.

“So, who's a better lay, me or Wesker?” 

Annette looks at him like he's just shot her. 

“We all promised we wouldn't talk about each other.” 

\- 

Wesker had her first. 

That's never going to not bother him. 

He grew up always getting the hand-me-downs.

-

30 milligrams to start out today.

He's got a fucking headache; that's all. 

Annette thinks he's taking too much. 

What does she know? 

_“Bitch.”_

She didn't like that one. 

Stomped back off to Wesker's lab.

Bitch.

\- 

“On your knees, William.” 

It sounds so terribly proper when Wesker calls him _William._ Like they're in an office meeting, not like he's blowing him in the kitchen of his own fucking house—which he is. 

He's kind of disgusted with himself, but he gets on the floor anyway, stares down at the ugly faux stone vinyl that made Annette want to not buy the house, but he insisted, because they would get it redone.

That was two years ago, and the floor is still ugly, and they're both still fucking Wesker—more accurately that Wesker is fucking them—and no one ever uses the kitchen anyway, because he doesn't eat anymore and he doesn't know what Annette does, but it never seems to require pots or pans. 

So, maybe it is the best room for him to suck Wesker's dick in. 

Wesker unzips his pants. 

William takes him in his mouth.

He's good at giving blow jobs.

His mother used to tell him that it was a sin to waste God given talent. 

-

Annette ordered them all Chinese food. 

She's in the kitchen now, laughing with Wesker about something or other.

He's in the bathroom, one hand wrapped around his dick. 

He can't get hard anymore. 

It doesn't upset him as much as it should.

_20 milligrams._

She'd bitch at him if she saw him take it.

The food smells nauseating—peanut oil and fish. 

He can't remember the last time he ate something though. 

_Make a note to check on that..._

Hands under his shirt, ribs stand at attention: bruising their way through his skin.

He should probably eat something.

The mirror agrees. His pupils remind him of cartoon alien heads: big black orbs. Stubble is poking through his skin. It bothers the hell out of him—your face just sprouting like that.

“Did you fall in, Will?”

Annette is banging at the door. 

“I'm coming,” he mutters.

The irony is so hilarious, he can't laugh. 

-

It's a family dinner, he supposes.

If your family is made up of the ubermensch, the silent doe-eyed blonde, and a strung out scientist.

Annette has noodles hanging out of her mouth. 

_Slurp. Slurp._

He and Wesker both wince. 

“Are you making any progress with the serotonin balance in the MA-121 models, Will?” Wesker asks, trying to talk over Annette's ungraceful eating. 

“I know almost every method which doesn't work.” 

_Slurp. Slurp._

“Fantastic.” 

Wesker picks at a piece of shrimp. He's pretty sure that Wesker doesn't like Chinese food. 

“Not hungry Will?” 

He looks down at his own plate. 

“Um, no—I am. Just thinking, that's all.”

He takes a bite of the fried rice. Food feels foreign in his mouth, the weird textures and competing tastes. Carrots and onions and rice bits.

_Slurp. Slurp._

“Annette.” 

“Huh?” 

“Can you stop that please, darling?” 

“Stop what, Will?”

“Slurping.” 

She stares daggers at him.

“If you fucking eat something.”

-

He's scared that if he pushes her legs open any further, he'll hurt her.

“You know, this wasn't exactly what I meant when I said you should...” 

He would answer her, but his mouth is occupied. 

_Slurp. Slurp._

He feels nails dig into his shoulders. 

She's so pretty when she screams.

Panting and moaning and sitting up in bed, clenching her legs against his cheeks.

Wesker is long gone, and he has her all to himself. 

“You wanna fuck me, Will?” she whispers, scratching red tracks down his back with her fingernails.

He pauses. 

“...I can't.”

“What do you mean, you can't?”

“It's not you, honey, it's got nothing to do with you.”

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you? You can't eat, you don't sleep, your dick doesn't stand up...” 

She's getting teary eyed now. 

“Shh... shh... I'm fine, babe. I'm fine. I'm just not in the mood... let me just take care of you, okay?”

He taps a finger against her. 

“You're so sweet... let me kiss you again? Right here...”

He spreads out her legs again.

This time, she doesn't scream.

She cries. 

-

It's six in the morning when she shakes him awake. 

“Annie... what's going on?” 

Her face is red and blotchy, swollen around the eyes. 

“Are you okay, honey?” 

He rubs his eyes. It's too early. 

She's holding something, but he can't see it clearly. 

“Will, I'm pregnant.” 

-

She's in the bathroom now. He walks down to the kitchen, where she can't hear him. 

That ugly fucking kitchen.

He grabs the phone and dials.

_Albert Fucking Wesker._

Three rings before he picks up. 

“It's rather early, don't you think, William?” 

“Annette's pregnant.” 

No use in skirting around it. 

Wesker's sigh comes through like static. 

“I suppose we can schedule a termination procedure sometime this week...” 

“What the fuck do you mean, a 'termination procedure?”

“To terminate the pregnancy. Certainly, you don't want your wife carrying another man's child.” 

“What makes you so sure that it's your child?” 

“Well, I'm not a drug addict.” 

William hangs up.

\- 

“I'm going through with it,” Annette says, three weeks later, sitting on the bathroom floor. “I'm going through with it.” She doesn't sound very happy about it. She's tucked into the corner, with her knees folded up against her breasts, lower lip trembling, eyes red. 

He should say something, but he's not feeling too well himself, and he's pretty sure he'll just upset her. So, he stands awkwardly off to the side, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, which are nearly sliding off his ass.

_Buy a belt... eat something..._

Annette scrambles to the toilet again, practically crawling across the floor. 

The toilet's sweating; that's what his mother used to call it when water runs down the base and onto the floor, and as much as you know it's not piss and shit, you still kind of suspect it is. 

He pulls her hair back—it's all he can do for her without having to say anything. 

His pills are sitting on the edge of the ceramic counter, in their pleasant orange bottle. He forgot to put them away. Wesker chimes in commentary. 

_Well, I'm not a drug addict._

No wonder she's been throwing up so much.

Wesker's kid would give anyone indigestion.

“It's the right thing to do... I'm gonna go through with it.” 

He runs his free hand down her neck. 

“Of course it is, Annie. You're doing the right thing.” 

His words sound like they're coming from some very far off place, but she doesn't seem to notice.

-

It's getting harder to focus at work. The pills don't work like they used to— _maybe you should just take some more, take enough that you don't have to deal with this shit anymore—_ and he's sick and tired of fiddling with serotonin levels in frogs. He's passing the case off to Wesker's lab. Arklay isn't doing anyone any favors by squandering away their best scientist on trial and error tests that a tech could probably run.

He taps his foot in the elevator. He fucking hate elevators. They make him nervous.

Not as much as he hates stairs though. He gets winded really easily anymore. 

Wesker's going to be pissed about the case, but it's the least he could do to take it on. After all, it's not like he got his wife pregnant or anything. 

Oh, wait. 

He thinks about knocking on the door to Wesker's lab, and then decides against it.

Annette's on her knees. Wesker's pants are unzipped.

She's always been an extremely willing lab assistant. 

“Oh, uh, William!”

There's cum on her lips.

He throws the file down on the floor. 

“Al wanted to you to get an abortion. Did you know that?” 

\- 

50 milligrams. 

He doesn't feel well. 

-

“I love you, so much.” 

She's curled up against him in bed, soft hair falling against his shoulder. 

“It's Wesker's kid, isn't it?” 

Annette scowls. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Come on, Annie.” 

“I'm not sleeping with Wesker.”

“Bullshit.”

“I just fucked around with him, that's all. Same as you.” 

“It's different though,” he insists. 

Annette shakes her head.

“And why is that?” 

“I mean... there's certain things that Wesker and I do that you and I can't, really.” 

“So, it's okay for you to cheat on me, because I can't fuck you. Is that what you mean?”

_Honesty is the best policy._

“Uh...yeah.”

“It's your fucking kid, Will.” 

“Al told me it's his.” 

Annette put her lips right up against his ear. 

“That's because he's still mad that I wanted you more.”

-

“Annie said it's not your kid. She said she didn't fuck you.”

“Good morning to you too, Will. Some coffee?” 

Wesker sits at his desk, sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose, lab coat white and perfectly starched. 

“Stop jerking me around, Al. You're my friend.” 

“All's fair in love and war.”

“This isn't war, Al, this is my fucking wife.”

“Do you love her?” 

“What kind of question is that? Of course I love Annette.” 

Wesker smiles.

“Why?”

“What do you mean... why do I love her? I mean... she makes me happy, and...” 

“If you're so happy, why do you take all those pills? You must have lost twenty pounds since you began.”

He grits his teeth.

“You wanna know why? Because I need to focus, so I can be the best at what I do. Because this job is all I have, and if I'm not the best, then I don't even matter.”

Wesker shakes his head, and takes the sunglasses off. His stare is disarming.

“Annette's child isn't mine, William. I was simply trying to make the potential consequences of your recent actions clear to you.” 

-

10 milligrams.

It's been a long process.

They had a baby girl, with freckles. Just like Annette said she always wanted.

Her name is Sherry, but he likes thinking of her as _Cherie_. Maybe he would have learned French, if things hadn't been so different. 

Wesker still comes over for dinner, but it usually doesn't end with a blow job in the kitchen. He's pretty sure Sherry wouldn't understand, but it might damage her psyche in some unforeseen way.

He eats, he sleeps, he has sex with Annette again—or will, once she feels up to it. 

It's probably the most normal things will ever be. 

Though, some nights it gets late in the lab, and he finds himself spending the night at Wesker's rather than making the drive home.

And when he's bent over Wesker's bed, the thought occurs to him that they're always going to be part of a trinity.

 


End file.
